Her Fathers' Daughter
by charlemagnebrat1
Summary: Lysa doesn't tell her father about her pregnancy. Alys Arryn grows up in King's Landing.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or any characters therein. They belong to G.R.R. Martin. Also on asoiaf kinkmeme

* * *

When she marries, she would like her husband to foster Robin. The air in King's Landing is not good for him, but he's too… young to be with anyone other than family. Since she was a little girl, she was told that they must all look out for her brother. Any time he stood near a river or cliff edge, or on a HORSE what if he had a fit and fell, what then? He must always be watched.

She and her mother took it in turns, to sew and knit and read and count as he played and learnt and thrashed. Alys had read all of her Hand father's books on trade and stores and taxes before she was twelve as her brother played with his dolls. It had to be family. Servants couldn't kiss him out of his fits. And if her mother spent every hour with Robin she would surely go mad. Alys herself would if she couldn't ever leave the Hand's Tower. Mother could join her at her husband's home. Papa would survive. He is so busy with the King.

* * *

It was late when Jon first opened _Lineages of the Great Houses_. He had suspected for a long time- hidden looks between the Kingslayer and the Queen, and the dark-haired babes had all but confirmed his suspicion. He settled down to read.

Yes. Each marriage between a Lannister and a Baratheon, whether male or female, resulted in the births of purely dark-haired children. This was the proof that the King's brother required, and in the morn, he would inform Stannis, and justice would be done.

It is at times like these that history stands on the head of a pin. One nudge and its direction is set. Jon Arryn found he was invigorated rather than drowsy, and read a little more of this fascinating book. Robin's frailty and fits- was his family to blame or Lysa's? As he read he thought more of his daughter. Jon had been fair-haired when young, a light brown, and his wife was a dark auburn. He found sweet Alys' dark chestnut hair a pleasant blend of the two. But each marriage between a fair-haired and a red-haired parent resulted in a child who was either fair or redheaded, never brunette.

Jon's withered hands shook. Alys must be his daughter, she must. He remembered when he first held her- a child at his age! And so clever and kind to her dear old papa. Her Tully eyes would light up when he came home with a new book or new ribbons and he would gather her up into his arms and smell her dark, dark hair. What did this book know? A child's appearance was not always what was expected- what of Ned, and his four red-haired babes, though when dark and red fought in common folk, dark won out in all but a few cases? And wasn't Jon's own mother dark-haired? This book was tosh. Jon knew Alys was his daughter.

* * *

She should have been named Alayne. That was what Petyr told himself after a night of wine. If Hoster Tully had learnt of Lysa's pregnancy, he would have been outraged, but not so foolish to deny the truth. He and Lysa would have married, and been poor- he would not have been granted the opportunities required to become Master of Coin as an outcast- but happy enough, a family.

She was so quick and clever. He had seen her at Small Council meetings when she had accompanied her father, always sitting properly, a lady-in-making, but listening intently to each word. She stayed silent, but Petyr had heard her walking with the Hand in the gardens afterwards, and the questions she asked. From his side, he knew it. She should have been his.

He'd watched her grow from a short, runny-nosed little thing to a petite beauty. Dressed in Arryn blue. He never said a word. Never touched her. She'd been told not to approach Littlefinger, the Whoremonger. He wanted to yell to her 'You should have been Alayne!'


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones.

Warning:This has swearing, naked people, and murder. But you're reading GoT fanfic, not My Little Pony.

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'What are you working on, Papa?' Jon looked up at his daughter. Alys entered the large study with practiced gait, and settled herself between two piles of scrolls.

'Nothing, sweetling. Just some research.'

Alys moved closer. 'Tell me.' She looked down at the book. '_Lineages_. Is there some succession crisis in the Vale? Don't tell me- it's the Reynes, isn't it? The lordship follows a different path to the gold?'

'It is of no matter. Merely personal reading.' The book was open at the Arryn line. Alys exhaled and leaned forward for a hug. Jon was confused, but did not shy away.

'Oh Father. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault.'

'Alys?'

'Robin. I know you've been thinking of his illness too. But some things are in the hands of the gods and we just have to do the best we can.'

Jon sighed. 'Is he asleep?'

'I left him a moment ago. Mother's giving him his evening meal.' Lysa's nursing was the dragon in the room with the Arryn's: observed but never mentioned. Jon had voiced that Robin was far too old, but Alys welcomed anything that stopped the fits. The last attempt to wean him led to five convulsions in one day. Each was harsh and terrifying. Jon's wife and daughter spat sparks whenever the matter came up.

Lysa entered the room and placed an arm on her daughter's shoulder. 'He's dreaming now.' She glanced at the books on the desk and her hand tightened. Alys turned and held her mother's other hand. Lysa gave a small smile. 'I'll fetch some tea.'

Lysa returned with the tea- the new sweet type from Essos, where each cup had a little flower blooming at the bottom. Alys reached for the largest, to be stopped by her mother. 'Not that one. That's for your father.' They sat together as the candlelight dwindled until each drop was drunk.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at Winterfell…

It was full summer in the North. The sun shone, the birds chirped, and all the young men were out swimming in the Godswood. The naughtiest girls hid in the thicket, hoping for a glimpse of this month's beloved. Ah, youth!

Bran had dragged Robb and Theon aside, and was showing them a stroke he'd designed. 'It's like climbing, but you thrash both legs at once, see, with a great THWACK!' A wave of water swept over the laughing boys.

A nearby bush rustled. Theon elbowed Robb. 'Who do you think's in there?' he whispered. 'Come up from the other side, we'll catch them.' Slowly, and nonchalantly, they separated and made their way to the bush.

'Gotcha!' Both boys leaped on the bush, narrowly missing the two maids who scrambled away and ran. 'I saw your face, Martha! Saw you looking!'

Robb turned round. 'Where's Bran?' He was nowhere to be seen. 'Bran!' The other men heard, Winterfell guards and squires all. They looked in all directions and ran between the trees. 'There!' A shadow at the bottom of the pool. Theon dived in and returned to the surface with a limp body in his arms. Robb couldn't breathe. He raced to his brother and put his hand near his nose. No breath. Rodrick Cassel pulled him away. Robb couldn't see, couldn't stand. Sir Rodrick pressed his hand to Bran's chest. 'There's no heartbeat.' Robb howled. Rodrik gripped Robb's shoulders. 'There's no heartbeat. You can't help him now.' The other men stepped back. None wanted to witness this.

Theon lay Bran on the ground AND OPENED HIS MOUTH. He then started to strike Bran's chest rhythmically. Robb was too shocked to do anything for several seconds. How dare Theon? His brother's corpse!

'Theon, stop!' Robb tried to push Theon aside but was shoved away. Theon had poured water out of Bran's mouth and was now kissing him. What sort of fucking ironman sick fucking lecher thing was Theon doing with HIS DEAD BROTHER?

Bran coughed, and choked, and spat more water out. His pale face looked to Robb. Theon now stepped back and allowed the brothers to embrace.

The other northmen edged away from the wizard.

* * *

Robin was clean and dressed and had had his first suck of the day. They were in the Hand's anteroom, the one with the big blue curtains and his model castle. Mother and Alys were sewing something blue on the corner chairs. He hoped it wasn't another shirt for him. Robin always wore blue shirts.

Mother said they'd go to the gardens later. The ladies were taking tea together. There would be cakes.

One of Father's servants came in. He looked sad. 'Milady,' he said, talking to Mother. 'Your husband has passed away.' Alys looked very surprised. Her cheeks turned really red, like she'd been slapped or wasn't allowed any cakes.

'Father?' she said.

'I'm so sorry, milady.' The servant then knelt before Robin. 'Long live Lord Arryn.'

* * *

AN: Isn't this exciting? Theories might not be followed, but they will be welcomed. I've got a bit of writer's block.


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